


The Last Night in Gomorrah

by DellaBella



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Biblical References, Character Development, Character Study, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 12:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19441750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DellaBella/pseuds/DellaBella
Summary: Crowley is sent upstairs to check in on things in a city called Gomorrah, and he meets up with the angel Aziraphale who he'd last seen just before the great flood. (A one shot look at the development of the friendship between Crowley and Aziraphale.)





	The Last Night in Gomorrah

Being back on the surface of the Earth was a relief. Crowley didn’t care much for being in Hell, though he supposed that was actually the point of Hell. No one _wanted_ to go there, or else it would defeat the entire purpose.

Still, the Earth suited him much better. Things were getting interesting up here. Humans were clever. They were good at thinking up ways to kill one another, for a start. But occasionally they’d also invent something that was good, or at least enjoyable.

In the valley below was a human settlement. A cluster of stone and brick buildings surrounded by a circle of small homes, surrounded by an even larger circle of tents, and beyond that were farms and herds of goats and sheep.

Gomorrah.

A rather sizable city, though not particularly notable among human endeavors. It had its share of gambling, and drunkenness, and harlotry. Certainly the kind of place where a demon could make some trouble. But it Crowley couldn’t see how it was any more or less important than anywhere else.

The authorities of Hell seemed to think that something significant was about to go down in this city, however. Several angels had been spotted there lately, and they wanted him to check things out.

He wished he had a clearer plan than that. After his last assignment, he really needed to something big to impress them downstairs.

He had done something wrong. Some failed temptation, perhaps? He could hardly remember now. All he knew is that Hell had not been forgiving about it, not that he had expected them to be. But several months of being tortured in one of the lower circles of Hell had seemed a bit of an overreaction in his opinion.

Then again, when had either Heaven or Hell _not_ overreacted to something?

He stood up on shaky legs, trying to focus on the details of his corporeal form. Trying to convince himself that it was all there, that it was not burned away, or even worse, currently still burning. It all seemed right enough, other than a strange sort of sensation inside of him. It was like an electric current running constantly through his nerves, trying to alert him that something was very wrong.

But he was simply standing here, in the dessert, and there was nothing particularly disagreeable other than the heat. Which was actually still a reprieve from Hell to be honest.

He squinted in the brightness of the midday sun, shielding his eyes with his hand. He wondered briefly if he should invent something to block out the light when his thoughts were interrupted by some intrinsic internal alarm. He felt something, or someone rather, approaching him. Someone familiar, yet unexpected.

“Crowley?”

He felt himself relax a little. It was just the angel Aziraphale. Technically his enemy, yes, but not an enemy that wished him any particular harm. In fact, Crowley got the distinct impression that the angel didn’t wish anyone any harm. He just wanted to be left alone, as far from the scrutinizing eyes of his superiors as possible.

Crowley could certainly relate.

“What’re you doing here, angel?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I just got a new assignment.” He brushed a loose strand of fiery red hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear. There was a nervous sort of tremor in his hand, and he tried to ignore it.

“You seem tense.”

“I didn’t do so great with my _last_ assignment, and the authorities of Hell aren’t exactly merciful when it comes to failure.”

“Ah, so you got in a bit of trouble then?”

“In a bit of trouble…” he repeated slowly, focusing on each word, trying not to sound as angry as he felt. “You are aware of what Hell is like aren’t you?”

“I’m familiar with the concept.”

“Right. Then you know that we get more than a firmly worded reprimand when we screw something up.” He frowned and drew in a shaky breath, still trying to push the all too recent memories further back into his mind.

“It seems rather unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant?” He was more than a little offended by such a trivial word. “Imagine being thrown into a lake of boiling sulfur. And since you’re immortal, you don’t even have death to look forward to. You’re just… _there_ … until they’ve decided you’ve had enough of it.”

Aziraphale shuddered. “Oh.” He turned to face him now. His expression was sympathetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of it.”

Crowley managed somewhat of a smile. “It’sss okay.” There was just a hint of a hiss to his voice, but he felt no need to hide it around the angel.

Aziraphale reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. Crowley could feel the divine warmth, the healing love that radiated from the angel and soothed the unseen wounds that burned inside his psyche. He closed his eyes and sighed softly. He wasn’t supposed to receive any mercy from Heaven, that was part of the curse after all, but he certainly wasn’t going to turn it down.

“Better?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

They were silent for a while.

“There’s a lovely little tavern down in Gomorrah. They have this tasty dish with lamb and mint. And this delightfully soft bread. Oh, and these cocktails with just a hint of lemongrass…”

Crowley looked at the angel curiously. “What are you going on about, Aziraphale?”

“I, well, it’s just…” he cleared his throat somewhat nervously. “I thought maybe you’d like to go there, that’s all.”

“With you?”

“If you didn’t have any other plans.”

Technically demons didn’t need to eat anything.

He had tried food and wine, of course. He might as well know what it was like, if he really wanted to truly understand these humans and tempt them successfully. He preferred the wine over the food, honestly. Alcohol had been one of the great inventions of mankind, and had given him a least a little respect for the cleverness of these strange mortal creatures. Perhaps even a vague sort of fondness, though that was something he was certain demons shouldn’t feel toward anyone.

Still, dinner with Aziraphale didn’t seem like a terrible idea. If nothing else, maybe he’d learn something useful. The angel seemed particularly well versed in human customs.

“Come along, angel,” he replied. “I could use a drink.”

~*~*~

The tavern had been as enjoyable as Aziraphale had promised, though he had just spent several entirely unpleasant months down below, so anything was an improvement really.

Still, he had genuinely enjoyed the food, and the company, and most importantly the cocktails with lemongrass, and mint, and just a hint of honey. He felt warm and relaxed. The sun was nearly down now but the streets of the city were just starting to come to life. He heard drums and flutes, and people singing and cheering just outside.

“There are these women who dance,” Aziraphale explained. “The men seem to like it. They give them coins for doing it, anyway.”

“Dancing.” Crowley made a face. “Never tried it.”

“Why would you? Angels don’t dance.”

“I’m not an angel anymore.”

“You were though. You still are, basically. I imagine some things don't change.”

“I might give it a go at some point. Demons aren’t really supposed to obey the rules, you know.”

“Well, I can’t imagine I’d ever do anything like that,” Aziraphale said primly. “Come on, I’ll show you around the city.”

Crowley followed him out onto the streets that were lit with torches and lamps. There were more people milling about than before. The cool evening air was certainly more inviting than the oppressive heat of the afternoon.

A young woman with dark eyes and bright red lips, wearing a billowy scarlet dress, greeted them from the door of an inn.

“New in town?” She purred, stepping out onto the street.

“You could say that,” Crowley answered. Aziraphale didn’t seem to be paying her any mind. He was more intrigued by a man who was selling scrolls from the back of a wagon.

The young woman stepped a little closer, her gold bracelets jingling. “I can be very welcoming…”

“Eh. No, thank you,” He responded. He took a few steps backward, pressing a little closer to Aziraphale. “It didn’t take them long to figure it out, did it?”

“Figure what out?”

“Prostitution.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale seemed thoughtful for a moment. “I thought that was your people who dreamed that one up.”

“No, I’m pretty sure the humans did that on their own.”

“Fascinating. You’ve never tried it, have you?”

Crowley raised his eyebrow. “Prostitution?”

“Sex.”

“Oh. No, can’t say that I have. Hardly seems like it would be worth the effort.”

Aziraphale just nodded in agreement. The two of them continued through the city, past shops, and taverns, and groups of young people out for the evening.

Crowley liked it here. Heaven had never been too fond of cities. Too many people gathered together in one place seemed to make them nervous. The people who built that ridiculous tower in Babel certainly didn’t seem to fare too well.

But Crowley had never seen anything wrong with cities. Seemed far more efficient than just roaming about in little bands, hoping to find food and shelter. Praying not to get killed by wild animals, or more likely, by another roving band of humans. He had taken every opportunity to inspire any people he came across who were planning to build a city to go through with it.

He decided he’d keep doing it too. If Heaven didn’t like it, that was all the more reason for demons like himself to encourage it.

“These humans sure do seem to make the most out of their miserable lives, don’t they?” he mused.

“Mmm…?” Aziraphale responded. “Ah look, the tailor is still open! I could use a new tunic.”

“You could just, you know,” Crowley waved his hand. “Materialize one.”

“I suppose, but it seems better to just do what the humans do. Helps one to blend in and all that.”

Crowley shrugged. His own corporeal form was still part serpent, and he really felt no need to blend in any further than was necessary to help him accomplish his objectives. Aziraphale, however, seemed to want to be as human as possible. It was intriguing, really. He couldn’t imagine that the authorities upstairs were all too happy about that.

Crowley felt the angel grab his arm suddenly and pull him into the shadows of a small alleyway between two shops. Aziraphale’s gaze flitted nervously toward the street.

Crowley turned his head cautiously and saw Gabriel and Michael being led through the city by a nervous looking sort of man. He pushed himself as far back against the stone wall as he could. There was no good reason he or his companion could give to either of their respective sides about what they were doing together. He certainly wasn’t going to risk another “reprimand” from down below.

“What do you suppose they’re up to?” Aziraphale whispered once he was certain they were far enough away not to hear him.

“Nothing good,” Crowley replied.

“What do you mean, nothing good? Of course they’re up to something good, that’s what angels do. Good.”

“Er… I feel like Gabriel is more of the fiery judgement type.”

“Yes, but for the purpose of achieving the greater good…”

“If you say so. I’d rather not hang around to find out.”

~*~*~

From the crest of a large hill, Crowley watched the total annihilation of Gomorrah. Fire rained down from the heavens mercilessly, and the screams of the inhabitants were enough to make even the cruelest of demons recoil in distaste. And he was far from the cruelest.

He wrapped his black wings around himself, in a gesture that didn’t really shield him from anything, but felt familiar and safe enough. Heaven was really no different than Hell, ultimately. Both sides were so fastidiously dedicated to obtaining their goals that they didn’t care what they destroyed in the process.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale was next to him now, his bright white wings gleaming under the light of the full moon. “I’m glad you made it out.”

“You’re not the only one who can fly,” he muttered gloomily.

“It’s all very… unfortunate.” Aziraphale seemed as if he were struggling to find the right words. Or, perhaps, trying not to say the wrong ones.

“Unfortunate, yes.” He stared pensively at the burning hellscape in the valley below. “Last time I saw you, angel, the Almighty was wiping everyone out in a flood. Now two of your Archangels are here killing an entire city by raining down fire.”

“They didn’t kill _everyone_ in Gomorrah. They spared this one family…” Aziraphale’s tone indicated that even he realized how pathetic of a response that was.

Crowley tilted his head toward him. “Hardly makes a difference, I think.”

“I…” There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “I’m sure it’s all part of the plan.”

“The plan?”

“The greater good. The ineffable plan.”

“The _plan_ …” Crowley sneered, not bothering to conceal the deep-seated bitterness in his voice. “Thousands of innocent lives destroyed? What about the children? What about the animals? You’re telling me the sheep did something wrong to deserve hellfire and damnation?”

“ _Crowley_ …” Aziraphale’s voice was strained. He wrung his hands nervously, his gaze locked on what was left of the city below. There was an anxiousness to his aura. An uncertainty that was not befitting an angel who was obediently following the plan.

If there ever had been a time that he could have tempted an angel to fall from grace, this would have been it. But Aziraphale didn’t deserve that any more than the people of Gomorrah deserved to be incinerated by burning sulfur.

Maybe he should just change the subject before Aziraphale could ask any of the questions he could sense were bubbling up just below the surface. Crowley knew all too well where that got someone.

“I suppose it’ll work out to my advantage though,” the demon said thoughtfully.

“Oh?”

“Hell thinks I’m not doing enough up here to instigate suffering and chaos. I’ll just tell them that I tempted the people of Gomorrah to do whatever it is they did that made Gabriel destroy the place.”

He could have sworn there was just a slight hint of a grin on Aziraphale’s face. “Well, if it means they’ll leave you alone…”

“For now they will.” He was relieved. He was surprised he hadn’t thought of it earlier. Humans did plenty of terrible stuff on their own without his intervention. All he had to do was take credit for it down below, it’s not like they’d bother checking on it. They just wanted to add more points to their column. To convince themselves that bad was winning out over good.

The city was nothing more than smoldering embers at this point, and the smell of sulfur that carried on the wind was unnervingly familiar. Crowley shivered. “There’s a caravan leaving in the morning for Kadesh. You should join in.”

“Kadesh?”

“You’d like it there. There’s a baker who makes this kind of cake with raisins and dates.” Crowley turned to face him. “The wine’s decent, too. And plentiful.”

Aziraphale suddenly perked up. “That does sound lovely.”

Crowley smirked. It was easy enough exploiting his weaknesses, though he was honestly doing Aziraphale a favor by taking him along with him. And if they both happened to get absolutely wasted at that one tavern on the outskirts of the city… well, he could count that as a victory, couldn’t he?

Absolutely, he could.

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by reading the part of the book where Crowley is talking about the tavern in Gomorrah. I've been working on a much longer Good Omens fic, but this whole scene came to me so clearly that I needed to get it written out, and hopefully it was a good effort at characterization.
> 
> Also, since Hell was originally intended to be the place for punishing fallen angels (not humans) and the powers of Hell make some very disturbing threats toward Crowley (both in the book, and in the show) I figure it's not entirely unlikely that he had been through some pretty bad torment himself at some point or another. Probably one of the many reasons he'd rather be on Earth drinking and sleeping.


End file.
